


Freefall

by blainedarling



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Break Up, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, OT5, OT5 Friendship, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blainedarling/pseuds/blainedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn takes what’s left, pulls it away and sends himself into free fall. But the ground below isn’t all rocks and empty space – there’s the boys. His boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freefall

**Author's Note:**

> Meeerghhhh I don’t know how I feel about writing this just yet. But, I kind of just needed to bash out all my feelings somehow and this happened. Let’s just remember that RPF is fictional representations of real people and…leave it at that. I shall retire to my corner now, clutching photos of Zayn to my chest.

He’s been dozing for the past hour, drifting in and out of consciousness, basking in the simple fact that he  _can_. His phone isn’t vibrating angrily against the nightstand, there’s no one pounding at his door. The only sound is the splash from the pool in the courtyard below and the sounds of his sisters’ high pitched giggles, filtering in through the open window.

Zayn wiggles his toes where they’re poking out of the end of the light sheet, feeling the breeze kiss the tips of them. He smiles lazily and scrubs his face against the pillow. His hair needs a trim and his beard is getting out of control. He finds he just doesn’t give a shit.

That the other side of the bed is cool isn’t a surprise. Perrie is usually up before him, anyway – here, he’s likely to find her by the poolside, bronzing her skin under the sun rays of spring.

_Coming here was a good idea._

That much he knows for sure. Even back in London, even after his departure, he couldn’t stop that grating feeling between his bones. His heart still felt like it was running at a pace unhealthy for a human being, he was still shaking for a drink to accompany his cigarette before it even hit noon. He thought that would be enough, but in London his phone is still buzzing, people are still banging at his door.

Not here.

It hadn’t been difficult – organising the villa and the jet, rounding up his family and whisking them all off for a little break. His sisters, at least, had been thrilled, could see no better way to spend their Easter holidays than being spoiled rotten in the sunshine by their favourite brother.

His mother had looked concerned, but that had only been even more reason for her not to say no. Perrie had just shrugged and announced that she needed a new summer wardrobe before they left, and that had been that.

Zayn stretches his arms above his head, feeling the joints in his shoulders crack before dragging himself to his feet. He rummages through his bag, that’s lying open and bursting on the floor, grabbing a fresh pair of pants. He switches them out, toeing yesterday’s pair somewhere into the corner of the room, and tosses on a pair of basketball shorts and a thin white t-shirt.

It’s only once the t-shirt touches his skin that he realises it’s Harry’s. Another of the many little tokens of the other boys he keeps finding throughout his things. Sweatshirts, jewellery, hats, t-shirts. He’s fairly sure the pants he’d worn two days ago were in fact Liam’s, once upon a time.

He doesn’t change the t-shirt, just heads towards the stairs.

Pausing on the middle step, he looks out through the tall glass window towards the courtyard, watching his family with a fond smile. He presses his palm to the glass, pulling it away to admire the shape of his handprint left against the window before it disappears a moment later.

He could stand on this step all day, and miss nothing. He wouldn’t be snapped at for being late, or dazed; accused of being bored. He could just  _be._  Just for once. And still– There’s something. There’s something Zayn still can’t put a finger on that sits uneasy in him.

It lines the pit of his stomach and he can’t quite eat as he normally would. If his family notices, they don’t comment on the fact that he drinks more than he eats at every meal. It prickles against his skin, makes him toss and turn some before he finally gets to sleep at night. The bags under his eyes haven’t quite disappeared, not yet.

He thinks he might know what it is. Thinks it quietly, every time he looks over at Perrie and realises his heart doesn’t jump into his throat like it once did. That he doesn’t get butterflies or feel his pulse race. He chooses to ignore it, though. He’s just tired, they’ve been through a rough patch.

It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

Zayn’s nearly on the last step when he hears Perrie’s voice from the living room area and he takes the next quietly, peeping his head around the corner. Her figure is a silhouette against the bright light from outside, but her voice is clear.  
“He’ll be alright, he just needs a bit of time, is all.” She laughs brightly. “Good for business, eh? Nah, not  _his_ , love, mine!”  
Zayn trips on the bottom step and startles her. She ends her phone call and tosses her phone to the couch, but says nothing.

“Did you mean that?”  
Perrie fluffs out her hair. “What are you talking about, babe?”  
“What you just said. That I’m…good for business. This.” He gestures vaguely. “Everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks.”  
“Well, I mean.” Perrie licks her lips and sets her hands on her hips. “Of course it is. You know that. It is what it is, though, yeah?”

“No.” Zayn shakes his head. “No, you don’t get to say it like that. As though it isn’t real. Just another little publicity stunt.”  
“You want to talk publicity stunts, Zayn?” She looks pissed, now. “You want to talk about what’s  _real?_  Let’s talk about Thailand then, why don’t we?”

“I didn’t fucking cheat on you, Perrie!” Zayn scrubs his fingers through his loose hair in frustration, grabbing for the hair tie around his wrist to pull it back into a tight knot. “I know I’ve fucked up before. I  _know_  I have. But the difference between you and me is that I tell you the truth and I try and fix it.”  
Perrie snorts. “You’ve yet to come up with a good fix it for sticking your dick in some other bird.”

“And yet you’ve forgiven me every time.” Zayn can feel his hands starting to shake as he folds them across his chest. “If it upsets you so much, still, why did you forgive me every time?”  
“Who says I forgave you?”  
“You’re still here, aren’t you? Why?”

Perrie’s smile is tight and unwavering. She doesn’t reply.  
“Because it’s good for business,” Zayn finishes for her in a whisper. “You, the scorned mistress. Me, the perpetual fuck up just begging for another chance,  _lucky_  that his fiancée is so understanding. So forgiving.”

And there it is. Zayn can’t ignore something when it hits him the face, even if he’s been too damn stubborn to let it before now. But it’s there, a blaring siren of a thing as Perrie stands silent. Once upon a time, they had been good for one another.

Once upon a time, Zayn would have stayed.

Zayn crosses the room to her and holds out his hand, trying to keep his wrist as steady as he can. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.  
Perrie’s fist closes protectively around the rock on her left hand. “No.” She shakes her head furiously. “No, I won’t let you do this, Zayn. I’ve  _fought_  for us, now it’s your fucking turn.”  
“I don’t want to fight. I don’t want it enough to fight for it.”

Perrie draws back sharply as though he’d slapped her across the face. “Take that back,” she hisses. “Take that back, I swear to God, this is your last fucking chance.”  
Zayn keeps holding his hand out until she, shaking too, tugs it off her finger and presses it into his palm so hard that the stone almost cuts the skin. “I still love you. But this isn’t healthy for me. And I don’t think it is for you, either.” He smiles, a little sadly. “For your career, perhaps. But not for you, as a person.”

Zayn turns and takes the stairs two at a time before she can call after him, running into the room and stuffing his things into the bag he never unpacked. He throws his denim jacket on even though it’s far too hot outside for it, opening up a browser on his phone and booking himself onto the first flight to Dubai before he can even get the bag over his shoulder.

Perrie seems to have gotten herself worked up into a temper by the time he gets downstairs, her sandals slapping off the stone floors. “If you walk out of here, Zayn, it’s  _over._  Do you hear me? It’s over and I don’t care how much you beg, I won’t be dumb enough to fall for your shit again.”

Zayn lets the words wash over him. They don’t sting as much as they should, they don’t pierce through his skin. He’s already done. She’s only giving him an ultimatum he’s already made for the both of them.

“Villa’s paid up already. Jet will take you back at the end of next week, as planned. Have a good break.” He hitches the back up higher onto his shoulder and stuffs the ring that’s still tucked into his hand into his jacket pocket.

He says his goodbyes to his family quickly. They look confused, worried, but one look from his mum is enough to stop anyone from asking questions he certainly isn’t ready to answer.  
“Don’t disappear,” is all his mum whispers into his ear as she hugs him tight. “We’re happy to give you time but don’t just disappear on us.”  
Zayn tucks a kiss behind her ear. “Promise.”

* * *

Zayn doesn’t sleep on the flight. His little cubicle up in first class feels so painfully isolated – it reminds him of flying back to London from the boys, alone and fucked out of his mind and utterly sure of what he had to do next. Now he’s just blindingly awake, blindingly sober, and blindingly  _alone._

Flying home that day – it feels like a lifetime ago but it’s been barely more than a fortnight.

He hadn’t thought to arrange a car to collect him, hadn’t really known whether he could contact Mark or anyone else from the team. Wasn’t sure he even wanted them to know he was coming. He swings into a taxi outside the airport, chucking his bag into the seat alongside him, and rattles off the name of the hotel. That much he can remember, even if he had to search his brain for it, from back when they’d been organising the whole tour.

It’s early morning – so early that it’s barely dignified to call it morning at all. The sun hasn’t yet begin to touch the horizon, the sky a blue wash. His body feels disproportionately buzzed compared to how exhausted he feels. He can’t seem to stop tapping his foot off the bottom of the taxi, his hands restless against his thighs. He has half a mind to have the driver pull over and to run the rest of the way there, just to release some of the energy that’s throbbing through his veins.

In some ways, he feels as though he is in free fall. There is nothing left beneath his feet any longer. The band, the music, London, Perrie. It’s gone. And he has no idea what lies beneath, what he will land on.

Except.

Except, he thinks as they pull up outside the hotel and Zayn tosses a handful of notes at the driver, for the boys.  _If_  he even still has them. There is as much chance he will have the door slammed back in his face as of being taken in and he knows he deserves that.

Even though they knew of this possibility, saw it in their eyes when he left them and got on that plane, he still felt it. He felt their anger and hurt and upset when he made it official. In every mention of supporting his decision, and every word of how nothing would change what they had, the five of them, he felt it.

He knows Harry and he knows what number room he will have chosen. He goes straight there, his bag bouncing off his hip as he slips into the elevator unseen and hits the button for the correct floor. He half expects to get stopped when he steps out of the elevator, expects to find something hindering his way down to Harry’s room, but there’s nothing.

Zayn’s fist pounds against the door. And nothing. He tries again, and a third time until he hears footfalls approaching the door. Harry is apparently too half-asleep to think to check who it is through the peephole before opening the door, for he looks completely bewildered to find Zayn in front of him.

“Rookie mistake,” Zayn whispers, his voice cracking as tears press at the corners of his eyes. “Coulda been some crazed fan come to take photos of you in nothing but your ratty pants.” He gestures to Harry’s worn grey boxer briefs with the poorly placed rip on his inner thigh.

“Zayn?” Harry’s voice is rough with sleep but his grip is firm as he grabs Zayn by the wrist and pulls him inside, pressing him against the door as it closes. Harry’s hands fist into Zayn’s shirt and he presses his face to his crook of his neck, breathing him in. “It’s really you.”  
Zayn sinks into the familiar warmth and weight of Harry’s body, almost laughing at how he had come to Harry, for his support, and yet here he is holding the younger boy up. “It’s really me.”

And then it’s Harry supporting him as he hauls him towards the bed, pushing his clothes off him and then dragging him under the covers. “Sleep,” Harry breathes out, pulling Zayn up against his back and wrapping his arm around his waist, their hands interlaced against the moth. “Sleep before I wake up and realise you’re not really here at all.”  
Zayn buries his face into Harry’s curls and lets out a sigh. “I’m here,” he murmurs, as much to reassure himself as Harry. “I’m here.”

* * *

Zayn wakes up with his head stuffed beneath the pillow and his foot being jiggled. He grunts and his arms flop around uselessly as he tries to push himself up to tell the offender to kindly fuck  _off._

“C’mon, Haz, what are you doing still asleep?”  
Zayn wriggles until he can get his head above the blankets and pillows. “Louis,” he mumbles. “Get off,” he slurs and kicks his foot out of Louis’ grip, colliding with Louis’ balls.

Louis howls and grabs his junk, hissing as he hops around the room. “What the–”  
Harry comes out of the bathroom then, still wet from the shower, towel around his waist.  
It’s only then that Louis’ really  _clicks_ , his head whipping around to actually take a proper look at the dark head of hair appearing against the brash white of the sheets. “Fuck,” he breathes out, one hand still cupped around his crotch. “Harry, look, it’s–  _Look.”  
_ Harry nods. “I know. Turned up about four this morning.”

Without another word, Louis turns and runs from the room.

Zayn opens his mouth and shuts it again, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Is he real upset with me, like?” His stomach is twisted up into knots. Just because it had been easy with Harry, easy to fall into his room at whatever time of the morning and slide right back around his body as though he’d never left, didn’t mean it was going to be  _easy_ , full stop. Especially not with Louis.

Before Harry can reply, Louis bangs back into the room, with Liam and Niall in tow. He points at Zayn, staring at the other two. “I wasn’t winding you up, lads,  _look._ ”  
“I’m not a fucking museum exhibit,” Zayn mutters and lets his head flop back onto the pillow with a sigh. He closes his eyes, which turns out to be a mistake, for it means he has no warning whatsoever before three heavy bodies land on top of his.

Zayn yelps and squirms, but settles when he feels arms winding around his body, kisses being peppered over his shoulders and hair.  
“Alright, alright,” Harry calls over them, now in boxer briefs as he sits down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t knock him out, come on.”

The three boys arrange themselves into sitting positions on the bed and Zayn slowly drags himself up too. They’re looking at him much as though he had returned from the dead. “I’m sorry.” He lets out a slow breath. “I know, I have a lot of explaining to do, turning up here like this after everything, and I will, but–”  
Liam makes a stern noise. “You always have a place with us, Zayn. No explanations necessary.  _Ever._ ”

Niall leans over and squeezes his shoulder. “Li’s right. You’re family.” He pauses and glances around at the other boys before back at Zayn. “How long are you staying?”  
Zayn picks at an imaginary loose thread on the sheet. “I dunno exactly. I have a lot of shit to figure out.” He clears his throat. “Thing is, I think if I figure it out alone I’m probably going to make a right mess of it all.” The corner of his mouth turns up into a small smile. “Have been already. A bit, anyway.”

Harry wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders. “Good thing you got us, then, yeah? To stop you being a total idiot.” Zayn feels his grin as he nuzzles at his cheek before pulling back to look at the other three wordlessly.  
“Right, yeah.” Liam starts and clocks Niall and Louis over the head. “We’ll just be, giving you two a moment. Come meet us in Niall’s room in a bit and we’ll order up some breakfast, yeah?”

He hops off the bed before walking around to give Zayn a hug. “Missed you like mad, mate,” Liam whispers into his ear, kissing his forehead before heading for the door.  
Niall gives him a hug too, his a little more spirited. Louis gives his hair, that’s long since come free from the top knot, a sharp tug. “That’s for me balls,” he says pointedly and then smacks a kiss to Zayn’s cheek.

The door clicks shut behind them and the room is silent once more.

“Can I ask just one thing?” Harry says finally, his arm dropping from around Zayn’s shoulders as he rolls on top of him, pushing him down against the bed again.  
Zayn hums and rests his hands on Harry’s waist as the taller boy sits over his thighs, his curls hanging down over his face. “Go on, then.”

Harry nods towards the table at the other side of the room. Perrie’s ring sits on the top of it, sparkling in the sunlight peeking through the curtains. “I didn’t mean to– I wasn’t snooping. Fell out of your jacket pocket when I was tidying your clothes.”  
Zayn looks at it then back at Harry before he nods. “Yeah. For good.”  
“Did she say why?”

Zayn laughs a bit at that. “She didn’t actually. I mean– I did. Had to nearly force the bloody thing off her hand myself.”  
Harry’s mouth forms a tight line. “Didn’t want to say anything, but I always wondered if–”  
Zayn cuts him off with a shake of his head. “I’d have been too stubborn to hear it yet, even if you had.” He licks his dry lips. “It is what it is.” He smiles wryly.

Harry leans down and presses their foreheads together, tucking their noses side by side. “S’all gonna be okay, Zayn. You’ll see.”  
Zayn’s hands dip into the grooves of Harry’s spine as he closes his eyes, familiarising himself once more with the touch of Harry’s breath against his lips and the smell of his toothpaste. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you might be right, babe.”


End file.
